


Faded Away

by littlewvlf



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewvlf/pseuds/littlewvlf
Summary: So I’ve been reading the Dragon Age comic Omnibus and there’s a moment when Alistair, Varric and Isabela get caught in the Fade. The Hero of Ferelden is hardly mentioned in the comic and is certainly not a love interest (from what I’ve read so far), and I reimagined how it would have worked out in the Fade for Alistair with how things happened with my Warden. In the Fade world, Alistair imagines that his father is still alive and well as is Cailan, and is refusing to come back to reality. This turned out longer than I expected and suuuper angsty so beware! (This is also my first fanfic that I’ve shared with the world so please be kind!)





	Faded Away

The dwarf stood in front of the ginger king, hands held out flat in surrender as the former Grey Warden pointed his sword at the group. He could sense Isabela behind him getting antsy and Mae’s anxiety. He glanced quickly back at them and watched Isabela grit her teeth, then he returned his gaze to the angry man that stood before him. He knew that if they were to escape the Fade they needed to act quickly, but there was no way he was going to be leaving the king of Ferelden behind. Not only a king, but someone that the Dwarf had come to call a friend. But as he looked upon his face, Alistair’s jaw was tense and Varric was surprised to see there truly was no recognition in his eyes. 

“Alistair? Come on, man. You know you recognize me. I’m the funniest ruggedly handsome son of a bitch you’ve ever met in your life,” Varric tried again, taking a cautious step forward. Alistair didn’t hesitate to press his blade against the dwarf’s throat, and he saw Isabela dart forward with her own daggers drawn. “Damnit Varric, this isn’t working!” She hissed and Varric swallowed hard, careful of the incredibly sharp blade pressing into his skin. His eyes flickered back up to meet the eyes of the king. “Listen-“ “I’m not going to listen to any more of your lies, dwarf.”

Isabela let out a frustrated growl and looked between them, no doubt trying to judge the distance between herself and the king and the sword pressed to her friend’s throat. Varric held a hand up to her with a warning glance and then looked back at Alistair. “I didn’t want to have to do this to you, but..” Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one at a disadvantage here, my ‘friend.’” His voice was flat and cold. “Cailan is next in line for the throne, I’ll never be king, Maker willing. You speak treason.” Varric groaned, his heart dropping into his own stomach as he realized that he knew what it was that would nudge Alistair back to reality. Perhaps the only thing that could, at this point. 

“Remember Mahariel.” 

Alistair’s hand did not move. The dwarf glanced down nervously, suddenly starting to feel his mortality now that his last card had been played. But then he felt a twitch of the blade, like Alistair’s hand had wavered just for a moment, eyes blinking as he regained his composure. “I don’t know who..” the king began to say, but his eyes caught and focused on something behind the group he held at the end of his sword. His mouth had stopped moving mid sentence and everyone turned, aside from Varric who glanced desperately out of the corner of his eye. 

A hooded figure had stepped up quietly behind them, and Mae held up one burning hand in caution. “Sweet Maker’s ass, are we ever going to get out of here?” Isabela’s voice muttered quietly. The figure had stopped at Mae’s warning and it was suddenly so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. The figure was small, smaller than Mae and Isabela and Varric wondered what manner of demon they had stumbled upon this time in this Maker-damned Fade. Long silver ringed fingers reached up to pull the emerald green hood away from their face and suddenly the heavy blade that had left a love bite at the dwarf’s neck was dropped, hitting the ground with a loud metallic thud. Moments later the king had slumped to his knees, his face shadowed and tortured as his world halted on its axis. 

His dark eyes filled with tears as they met her glowing green ones. They were lined by long dark lashes that used to tickle his cheek when she got close. Long raven black waves cascaded down her small-framed shoulders and rested against her silver and green Dalish armor. Several tiny gold hoops lined one of her long pointed ears, and her full, slightly pouty lips pressed together in a line like they used to whenever she worried. She was petite and lithe but had muscle in her arms and the curves of her legs. She looked as beautiful as the day he had met her, and as the day he had buried her. His best friend and fellow Warden. The hero of Ferelden. The greatest love of his life. Alistair trembled on his knees as a single word fell from his lips. “Kiarra.” 

Varric had never seen a more broken man. 

The dwarf rubbed the irritated skin on his neck and reached out to touch the shoulder of his friend, who flinched visibly under his touch. “Warden Mahariel is dead, Alistair. It’s likely that’s a demon or spirit. I saw something similar last time I was in the Fade at Adamant,” He said quietly, but the man didn’t move. Varric wasn’t even sure if he was breathing, his eyes still fixed on the elf. Was she a spirit or demon? Varric had no idea, he wasn’t even sure about the last time he had found himself in the Fade. All he knew is that he getting too old for this shit. He looked up at the form of Warden Kiarra Mahariel and reached for his crossbow that was strapped at to his back. “Friend or Foe?” He asked her, bracing himself, ready to step in front of his captivated friend. He’d put her down a second time if he had to but he wouldn’t like it. 

The Warden didn’t acknowledge Varric, or either of the women that stood stunned beside her. She took a slow step forward, her hands half raised with palms facing out. They let her pass, and she silently approached the man that still sat on his knees like he had turned to stone, tears running down his tired cheeks. Varric raised Bianca and kept it fixed on her as she approached, which she continued to ignore as she sunk down to her knees in front of Alistair. Ghost or demon, whatever she was, couldn’t dodge an arrow to the skull, not from this range. The dwarf had seen way too much fucked up shit happen in the Fade to trust her for even a moment, no more than he had already had.

Maker’s breath, she was beautiful. And she smelled exactly the same, like roses and leather and earth. Alistair took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of her, flooded eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in memories. He remembered when he first met her, she had been wary of humans, having been raised among the trees in the forest. Eyes were ice cold and her tongue was sharp as the daggers she wielded. She had defrosted a bit after Flemeth had rescued them from that horrible night in Ostagar. He had always wondered if she had been conscious when he crawled to her side on the floor of the tower of Ishal and pulled himself over her, in one last ditch effort to protect her. 

He remembered picking the rose in Lothering, and then later on presenting it to her in camp. She had held the flower like it was the most precious of gems and slipped her arms around him, pressing her lips against his temple. Wynne had found a way to shrink it with her magic, and sealed it in a clear resin crystal that she wore around her neck with a silver chain. He remembered the sound of her laughter and how her eyes seemed to sparkle when she smiled. He remembered carrying her when the road was long, how she snored softly in his ear for hours and drooled all over his shoulder as she splayed across his strong back. He remembered climbing into her arms in her tent and feeling her for the first time, after he had freed her from Fort Drakon when she’d been captured rescuing Anora. He had thought he was going to lose her that night. He had no idea what was really in store. 

Her fingers reached up and brushed the wetness from his cheeks and he captured her powder-soft hand in his trembling one. She was solid, real. He swallowed a sob and held her hand delicately in his huge hand, pressing it to his lips. “Ma Vhenan,” her melodic, soft sigh sent a chill down his spine and his eyes trained on hers. It was her, it had to be. Maker, he’d give up his crown and all of Ferelden to have her back. Anything, everything. He almost did, after she died. But he soon realized that he was duty bound to the crown, to the decision that she herself had made for him. He accepted his role as king with grace, though he always managed to find ways to slip away and did often. Like he had when he had run off in search of a father he wasn’t even sure still lived. 

The strongest memory Alistair had was that of him bending to kiss her one last time on the rooftop of Fort Drakon. “I’ll love you forever,” whispered across his lips, when she lashed out at him with a small but bony fist that knocked him backwards. He had grasped his bleeding nose and stumbled, as the elf grabbed her daggers from their holsters and started running full speed at the unconscious Archdemon. He had started after her but she was faster, as she leapt onto the creature with ease and sunk both daggers into its skull. He remembered reaching out to her with a calloused and desperate hand though he knew it was too late, and she gave him one last lingering look. Her lips moved to form a word as he was suddenly flung back by a powerful force. But he was able to recognize the word before he lost consciousness. 

Forever.


End file.
